The ivy sways, the wall turns kind,
It bends before your tender mind.
The dusk forgets its ancient call,
And bows before your light withal.

The roses hush, the night bows low,
It trembles just to see you glow.
The winds retreat, the heavens stay,
To fold your flame in soft array.

The stones once still now softly sing,
They hum the warmth your light can bring.
Their silence fades, their weight is gone,
Awakened by the break of dawn.